Fields of Gold
by Ezika
Summary: Another depressing C&M fic, please read and review.


Fields of Gold

This is set about three years after Chandler and Monica got married. Rachel was never pregnant, so she still lives with Joey (they're just friends, the whole Joey/Ross/Rachel thing also never happened). I don't own these characters or make money from them. I don't own the lyrics to Fields of Gold either.

Dedicated to DMG and Megs, my two best online friends, and the whole of the crazy family at the CCAMB.

They stared at the couple, horrified. Monica and Chandler sat together in the chair, facing their friends on the couch. Chandler had his arm around his wife who was leaning against him. Ross automatically reached for Rachel, who didn't even comment as she let him hold her. Phoebe turned to Joey for comfort. Monica looked desperately at Chandler, she hated seeing her friends so upset, and it was all her fault. Chandler kissed her gently, reassuring her that it **wasn't** her fault at all.

"Oh my god!" Ross exclaimed. "You can't move to California! We'll never see you again!"

"I'm sorry Ross, we have to go," Chandler said, "But you will see us again," he added, knowing it was what they all needed to hear, not least himself and Monica.

"But not everyday like we have done for the last ten years!" Joey protested. Monica and Chandler didn't answer. There was nothing they could say.

"I'm sorry," Monica whispered. Ross left Rachel for a minute to hug his little sister.

"We're gonna miss you so much," he said sadly. Phoebe and Rachel nodded, neither of them could speak they were too upset.

A month later, Chandler and Monica stood in the apartment that had been her home for more than ten years, where so much had happened. Their friends had been helping them pack up all their stuff ready for the move in two days time, but it was now eleven pm and they had been left alone at last. They were surrounded by boxes, some neatly labelled in Monica's precise handwriting, others had labels scrawled on them by someone else after Monica had become to upset by having to pack away so many memories to concentrate.

"You ok?" Chandler asked. Monica shook her head. She was standing by the window and staring out towards Ross's apartment. He wasn't home, she knew he was across the hall at Joey's. Chandler walked over to her and hugged her from behind. She leaned against him tiredly.

"I hate this," she said softly, tears falling down her cheeks. Chandler kissed her cheek, wishing he could do something more to comfort her. He'd had to helplessly watch her cry too many times lately.

"I know sweetie," he whispered, "I hate it too."

"I'm sorry, I know this is hard for you too," Monica said, turning in his arms and kissing him gratefully.

"Don't be sorry," he said. Monica smiled slightly.

"I love you so much."

"I know."

Two days later, they were all gathered at the airport. Jack and Judy Geller were there too. Now that her daughter was moving to the other side of the country, Judy had suddenly decided that Monica wasn't such a terrible person after all, and had been guilt tripping her about 'abandoning her family'. It was all Chandler could do to restrain himself from punching his mother-in-law when she started with that, it made Monica more unhappy than ever.

Rachel and Phoebe were hugging Monica tightly, all three women were crying. Joey was trying hard not to start himself, and was hovering near Chandler, who was checking their boarding passes. Ross and his parents were huddled together.

"Dude, call when you get there, ok?" Joey said in a husky voice. Chandler turned to his friend and nodded. There was a moments silence, before they hugged tightly. "I wish you didn't have to go," Joey added. Chandler nodded.

"Me too."

"So why **are** you going then?"

"We have to Joe, I already told you."

"No, you don't have to! You don't have to take your promotion you know!"

Chandler sighed. He wished they didn't have to fight, not now. "I'm sorry, I do," was all he said, before he moved away to say goodbye to Ross.

"Take care of her," Ross instructed Chandler.

"You don't have to tell me that," Chandler pointed out, "You know I'd never let anything hurt her, ever." Oh God, how much he wished he could protect her from everything. He and Ross hugged quickly, before Ross went to say goodbye to Monica. Chandler shook hands with Jack and Judy, who wished him all the best, but Jack in particular seemed slightly cool with the man who was taking his little girl away from him.

"Mon, don't go, stay here," Phoebe begged. Monica sadly shook her head.

"You know I can't," she said.

"You don't have to go with Chandler," Rachel said, knowing even as she said it that Monica would never let her husband go to the other side of America without her.

"Yes I do, Rach. Please you guys, don't make this harder than it is," Monica said through her tears.

"We just don't wanna lose our best friend," Rachel said, hugging Monica tighter. Phoebe nodded her support.

"You're not gonna lose me," Monica said firmly.

They were on the plane. Chandler sat by the window and stared out at the greyness of the airport. Monica was next to him, not looking at anything in particular, just letting her eyes dart around the inside of the plane. She had never been a nervous flier, but right then, she would have given anything in the world to be able to get off that plane.

As the pilot announced take off, she clutched Chandler's hand. He looked at her, surprised at her fear. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. Monica was silent for most of the flight, although her face showed the strain she felt. Chandler sensed that she wasn't in the mood to either make small talk or discuss how she felt, so he stayed silent and looked out of the window as they flew over the country. Their hands stayed joined throughout most of the flight, since neither of them even felt like eating when the in-flight meals were brought round. Chandler picked at his a little, Monica refused hers altogether.

"Chandler," Monica said quietly, not long before they were due to land in San Diego.

"Yeah?" he asked, looking at her and wishing she didn't look so pale.

"We will go back home, right?" she asked.

"Of course we will," he promised. Monica smiled at him, desperately trying to make herself believe him.

They said very little until they arrived at their rented apartment in San Diego. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, they simply had nothing that they needed to say to each other, because they knew it already. Their new apartment was much smaller than their old one, and nowhere near as nice, but it was only temporary.

Their furniture had been shipped the day before, and was piled up, mostly in the living room of the apartment. Monica sank onto the couch and closed her eyes, ignoring the protective celephane wrapping over it. Chandler knelt beside her and kissed her forhead. She smiled, though her eyes remained closed.

"The guys put the bed in the bedroom at least," he said. "I'll go make it up, then we can go to bed and unpack all this tomorrow, 'kay?" Monica didn't say anything, which he assumed meant she was too tired to object. He considered covering her with a blanket, but it was warm in California, and he couldn't be bothered rumaging through all the boxes for something she probably wouldn't even notice anyway. He found the box marked "bedding" and took out sheets, pillow cases and a duvet cover. Unfortunately, it took him another ten minutes to find the box that contained the pillows and duvet themselves.

He didn't have the heart to wake Monica up to take her to bed, so he lifted her up and carried her through. She had lost weight reccently, and he was worried about how light she was. He didn't even bother undressing her, for fear of waking her up, he just took off her shoes and lay her down. He only delayed going to bed himself long enough to undress apart from his boxers. Their flight had left New York at eight pm, and they were both exhausted.

Monica woke up first the next morning, feeling disoriented. She leaned over and kissed Chandler's cheek gently, then got up, leaving him to sleep. She changed her clothes quickly in the half dark room, then went out into the living room. She had forgotten the numerous boxes that were scattered around, and sighed when she was confronted with them.

When Chandler woke up and found the other side of the bed empty, he jumped up, worried that something was wrong, Monica was rarely awake before him these days, and when she was, she usually liked to stay warm in bed and wait for him to wake up too. Chandler hurried out of the bedroom, and was surprised and mildly amused to find Monica sitting amidst all the boxes, sorting through their stuff, a garbage bag full of the newspaper they'd used to wrap stuff up in next to her.

"Want a hand?" he offered, sitting on the floor next to her.

"No, you'll mess up the system!" she said, exasperated, taking a bowl out of his hands and setting it down carefully away from him. Chandler laughed, he was just happy to have his Monica back, and slightly relieved to have gotten out of doing the tedious job of unpacking.

"Ok, then, do we have any food? I'll make us some breakfast," he said, standing up.

"Not until you go out and get some," Monica told him with a smile.

"Ok, I'll just get dressed then I'll go find the nearest grocery store," he agreed.

"Thanks sweetie," Monica said.

When Chandler got back, Monica had found most of the essential kitchen stuff and had taken the celephane off the chairs, table and couch, and was starting work on cleaning the built in kitchen units. Chandler made them both toast, and had to force Monica to put down her cleaning products long enough to eat.

Monica had felt hungry when she sent Chandler out for the food, but she realised as soon as the toast and butter was in front of her that she didn't want it. She nibbled on one corner, just so Chandler wouldn't worry about her. But he looked worried anyway.

"You ok honey?" he asked. She nodded and tried to smile at him reassuringly.

"I'm fine, really," she said. Chandler narrowed his eyes at her in disbelieve.

"You have that doctor's apointment tomorrow, remember," he reminded her. Monica nodded again.

"I know. Are you coming with me?" She tried not to sound too needy, but she really didn't want to have to go by herself.

"Of course I will. Unless you don't want me to?" he said, putting down his toast and squeezing her hand.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

They sat together in the light blue waiting room. Monica was paler than Chandler had ever seen her. Her hands were shaking in her lap, so he took them in his own and tried to steady them, then realised his own hands were shaking too. They looked at each other and tried to smile, but Monica's lower lip was trembling.

"Monica Bing?" a nurse called. Monica stood up, still clutching Chandler's hands nervously. He put his arm around her shoulders and they followed the nurse into an examination room.

This was it. This was why they'd come to San Diego, leaving all their friends behind on the other side of the country. Chandler's promotion was the excuse they gave, but the truth was, it wasn't a promotion at all, he had asked his company to transfer him to San Diego. They needed to come here because Monica had been diagnosed with breast cancer and her doctors in New York had recommended her for a trial of a new drug. The only problem being that the trials were taking place in San Diego. It had been Chandler who insited they go there, Monica had been reluctant to leave her friends and family behind. But he couldn't bear the thought of losing her, and the trials were her best hope.

The doctor explained to them that Monica would have to stay in hospital for a couple of weeks while they started the treatment, but after that she could go home (not New York home, just to their apartment in San Diego, which didn't feel like home, but neither Monica or Chandler bothered to point that out to the doctor), and give herself the injections of the drug, or else Chandler could give them to her. She would have to come back to the hospital once a week for check ups, but hopefully she wouldn't have to stay in for more than one or two nights at a time. The trials would last for up to six months, depending on how well Monica's cancer responded.

Monica was going to be admitted to hospital the following day. She wanted to go back to the apartment and finish the unpacking, but Chandler insisted that he would finish it in a few days. Instead they went to a restaurant in the city centre for lunch. Monica still didn't feel much like eating, but she tried to act as normally as possible, even though she knew Chandler would never buy it. He didn't, and even though he had suggested they wander round the town for a bit, he took Monica straight home when lunch was over. Despite her protests, she was grateful.

When they got home, Monica wandered over to the window. The view was nowhere near as good as she had been used to in New York. Thinking about that made her think about everything they'd left behind in New York, and about the cancer that was the reason they'd had to. Chandler followed her and gathered her into his arms. She was crying again.

"I miss New York," she stammered.

"Me too sweetie," he agreed, stroking her hair. She looked up at him and it broke his heart to see her looking so sad. He kissed her gently. It was Monica who deepened the kiss, Monica who started unbuttoning Chandler's shirt, and Monica who guided them to the bedroom. She needed the comfort of being with him like that. Chandler felt like he needed her too.

They talked for a long time afterwards, although they carefully avoided the subject of cancer. And talking about New York and their friends wasn't a happy topic either, so they skipped over that too. After a while Chandler noticed that he was the one doing most of the talking, which wasn't all that unusual, but it was unusual for Monica to be quite as quiet as she was at the moment.

"Are you worried about tomorrow?" he asked gently.

"Yes," she said straight away. She smiled as Chandler's arms tightened around her. "But I'm more scared of what could happen after tomorrow."

"The treatment?" he asked. The doctor had warned them of the possible side effects, which were fairly similar to those of chemotherapy, although hopefully less severe.

"I guess," she said hesitantly. Sensing there was more, Chandler waited for her to continue. "What if it doesn't work?" she whispered.

"It will work," he assured her, trying to convince himself to believe it too.

"You don't know that!" she snapped, "I'm sorry, I'm just tired and worried and homesick," she explained, hugging Chandler.

"That's ok sweetie," he said, "You're right anyway, I don't know that." Monica's face fell, despite the way she'd snapped at Chandler, she wanted him to reassure her and tell her everything was ok. "I just want to believe it so bad, because I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you either," Monica said, kissing him. He smiled.

"At least you don't have to be husbandsick," he tried to joke.

"I thought I'd got you out of the habit of making jokes in bad situations!" she said, "I think I'd better use my tried and tested method to shut you up." She was grinning now, and her eyes were brighter than Chandler had seen them for weeks.

"What's that then?" he teased. He chuckled as her hand found him under the covers.

The first day Monica spent at the hospital was pretty much just tests. Numerous blood samples were taken from her, blood pressure, she even had another mamogram. Chandler spent the entire day at the hospital with her. He wanted to stay the night too, but he would have had to stay in the chair by her bed and Monica made him go home where he would be more comfortable.

An hour after he left, she wished she had asked him to stay. She hated being alone in a strange place, especially when her friends were more than a phone call and a quick walk away. She couldn't even phone them to hear their voices, it was too late in New York. And she didn't wanna call Chandler because she knew he'd feel guilty for not being with her, and she didn't want him to, because it was her own fault for telling him to leave.

She was supposed to be seeing the doctor in charge of the trials tomorrow, and was apprehensive about it. She was already sick of being poked and prodded and tested, and this was just the beginning.

Two days later, she was given the first lot of drugs. Chandler held her hand while the doctor reminded them of possible side effects and any warning signs they should report to the medical staff. He was desperately hoping she would have no problems, that the treatment would work, and in six months they would be able to go home ot New York, and she would be in remission.

The next week was the worst of Chandler's life. Monica felt awful. She was weak and tired all the time, and often needed to throw up. She wasn't eating properly, when she did, it was only because of Chandler's persuasion. He hated seeing her like that, so unlike the strong, vibrant Monica he was used to. Even after she had become ill, she was still pretty much the same person he was used to. Now however, she was barely recognisable, and it had only been a week.

Fortunately for Monica, the anti-sickness drugs she was given were changed after the first week, which reduced the side effects of the cancer drugs. She was eating again, which was a great relief to Chandler. But the week of feeling terrible had knocked her down.

The gang had left loads of messages on their answerphone, since Chandler was spending most of his time at the hospital with Monica, he was rarely there to answer the phone, and hadn't found the time to call anyone back yet. The frequency of the calls had slowly decreased, as the friends back in New York wondered if Chandler and Monica didn't want to be bothered with them anymore. Joey was the most hurt, and although he called the most often, he usually just left his name and asked them to call him back when they got a chance.

When Monica's initial two week stay in hospital was over, she came back to the apartment with Chandler, and without warning, burst into tears as soon as they got there. Chandler couldn't understand why she was crying, she didn't have to go back to the hospital for a week, she should be happy.

"Mon?" he asked, hugging her tightly.

"I'm sorry Chandler," she sobbed, clinging onto him. "I guess I was just wishing we could go back home to New York, not here. I know, I knew all along that we couldn't," she trailed off miserably and shrugged.

"I'm sorry sweetie, I wish I could take you back home," Chandler said.

"I don't know if I'm gonna be able to take six months of this," she said unhappily. Chandler didn't know what he could say to make it easier for her, so he just held her and let her cry.

The following day, Monica called Joey and Rachel's apartment, and was delighted to find that Ross and Phoebe were there too. Joey, who had answered the phone, sounds ecstatic to hear her voice.

"Monica!" he yelled. The rest of them looked up.

"Put her on speaker phone!" Phoebe said excitedly. Joey did so.

"Mon, everyone's here, you're on speaker phone!" Joey told her.

"Hi guys!" Monica said. She put them on speaker phone too, so Chandler could hear and join in.

"Hi!" Chandler said.

"We miss you guys!" Ross told them.

"How come you didn't call us back?" Rachel asked.

"When are you coming home?" Joey asked.

"Mon, are you cheating on Chandler with a cute surfer yet?" Phoebe asked, causing the others in the room with her to raise they eyebrows at her.

"Woah, woah, one at a time guys!" Chandler said. His arm was around Monica, who looked a little sad. They both missed their friends even more now they were talking to them again.

"We miss you too," Monica said.

"And we're not sure when we're coming home, but hopefully in six months or so," Chandler said, smiling at Monica.

"And no Phoebs, I haven't met any cute surfers, or any surfers at all actually," Monica said, "Chandler on the other hand," she teased.

"Go Chandler!" Phoebe said.

"Thank you darling," Chandler said sarcastically to Monica. "So how've you guys been?"

"Starving," Joey said seriously, "Mon, you should have taught Rach how to cook before you left."

"I can cook," Ross said.

"No Ross, you can put dinosaur shaped chicken breadcrumb things in the oven for 20 minutes, not the same thing," Rachel sniped.

"How about you guys?" Ross asked, ignoring Rachel. Chandler and Monica looked at each other, unsure how to answer. They hadn't told the gang Monica had cancer, because they didn't want to worry them, but now they were wishing they had. Monica wondered why they had thought they could manage this on their own, why they had effectively refused the support of their best friends.

"We're fine," Monica said. Telling them over the phone would be awful.

"Are you sure? You sound kinda down," Ross said, concerned.

"Maybe they haven't had sex for too long," Phoebe suggested. Joey laughed dirtily.

"Gross! I don't wanna think about it!" Ross complained, "Anyway, you guys never answered why you haven't been calling us back for the last two weeks," he changed the subject."

"Monica's been ill," Chandler said quickly.

"Awww, Mon, are you ok?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah," Monica said mechanically.

"What was the matter with her?" Phoebe asked.

"Stomach bug," Chandler said.

"Flu," Monica said at the same time.

"Huh?" Joey asked.

"Stomach flu," Chandler improvised. If the others were at all suspicious, they didn't comment, and moved the conversation on to everything they'd been doing since Monica and Chandler went to San Diego. Apparantly Gunther had dyed his hair red.

When they finally hung up, Chandler and Monica hugged tightly. They missed their friends badly, and it had been a strain talking to them without mentioning the real reason they had flown out here. They'd been asking about Chandler's promotion, but he didn't start work in San Diego for another 3 weeks, so he couldn't say much about it, but if he told them that, they'd want to know why they'd gone to San Diego so early. Chandler sighed. They had started lying about Monica's doctors appointments back in New York, when they weren't even sure what was wrong with her, and it had escalated from there, until they reached the point where they couldn't tell their friends without some amazingly good explanation as to why they'd waited so long to tell them.

Over the next few months, Monica continued with her treatment. Chandler had started work, and even though he was only working part time, it still took him away from Monica much more than he would have liked. But there was no way they could afford for him to give up work completely. The gang still didn't know Monica had cancer. They still spoke to Monica and Chandler on the phone, but as Monica became more and more ill, the conversations became shorter and less frequent. Chandler was beginning to wonder if things would be able to go back to how they used to be once he and Monica moved back to New York. They had drifted apart from their friends, who had been going through their usual boyfriend/girlfriend problems, moaning about their jobs and drinking coffee in Central Perk, while Chandler and Monica had been going through hell trying to deal with everything in San Diego by themselves.

But they had somehow coped. Chandler looked as tired as Monica, from working part time, and trying to take care of Monica and be with her when she was most ill. His boss was sympathetic, and tried not to ask Chandler to work evenings or weekends, but Chandler had been taking lots of days off because Monica was getting worse. She'd had some vomiting with her last batch of treatment, and had been so weak she could hardly get out of bed. After two days of staying at home like that, Chandler took her to the hospital, where they admitted her.

Chandler sat next to Monica, holding her hand. She was pale and the dark circles under her eyes stood out in stark contrast to her deathly white skin. Her face had become gaunt as she lost weight due to the drugs, but more so in just the last few days while she'd been in hospital. Her eyes were closed, but Chandler knew she wasn't sleeping.

"Chandler?" she said softly. He leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"Don't talk sweetie, save your strength," he told her.

"I love you," she said, ignoring him. She opened her eyes and looked at him sadly. He hadn't shaved for several days, or showered for that matter, and he had been wearing the same clothes for the last 3 days, ever since she'd been admitted to hospital. She was so grateful for all the love he'd shown, he had only left her side to go to the bathroom and when the nurses gently forced him to go eat something.

"I love you too Mon, you know I do," he assured her, stroking her hand gently.

"I think we should tell the gang what's going on," she said. In case something happens, she added mentally. Chandler nodded, and she could tell he was thinking the same thing she was.

"I think you're right," he agreed.

"Will you call them?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course. I'll phone the next time you're asleep for a while," he promised. He didn't think Monica was up to talking to her friends, who were sure to be upset themselves when they found out.

"I don't want them to come out here though," she said, stifling a yawn, "There's nothing they can do anyway." She felt guilty, because there **was **something they could have done, they could have taken some of the pressure off Chandler. But she was self conscious about her disease, and didn't want all her friends to see her looking so ill, and being so unlike the Monica they all knew, the person she longed to go back to being.

"Okay, I'll make sure I tell them to stay put in New York," he said. Monica smiled faintly.

"Thanks," she whispered.

"Mon, you're exhausted, get some sleep, okay? I'll be right here, I promise," Chandler said.

"I thought you were gonna phone New York?" Monica said, not bothering to hide her yawn this time.

"I will," he said.

"You can't from in here, no mobiles, remember," she pointed out. Chandler rolled his eyes, she couldn't walk across the room, but she could still argue with him about the stupidest things!

"Ok, so I'll wait till you fall asleep, go outside and find a payphone, then come back, okay? I'll be here when you wake up again," he said, some spirit back in his voice at the partial return of the stubborn Monica he loved so much. Monica was already asleep. He smiled at her, and kissed her forhead lightly, then tiptoed out into the corridor to do as he had promised and phone the gang.

He dialed Joey and Rachel's number again, half hoping they'd all be there, half hoping none of them would. Rachel answered this time.

"Hi Rach, its Chandler," he said. She instantly recognised the strain in his voice.

"You ok hon?" she asked, "hang on, let me put you on speaker phone, Ross, Joey and Phoebe are here too." Chandler sighed, he knew he was going to cry, and didn't particularly want to break down in front of a roomful of his friends, but they'd know instantly that something was wrong if he asked not to be put on speaker phone, and at least this way he'd be able to tell them all at once.

"Um, not really," he said, not even bothing to say hi to the others.

"Oh my god, what's wrong?" Joey asked, standing up and moving closer to the phone.

"Are you ok dude?" Ross asked.

"Do you need me to clean your aura?" Phoebe offered.

"Chandler, what is it?" Rachel asked, worriedly.

"Um, no, I'm fine. Its uh," he stammered.

"Monica? Is she ok? What's happened?" Ross asked, starting to panic about his baby sister.

"No, she's not ok," Chandler said, his voice already starting to crack. He only hoped he'd be able to get through this phone call. His friends all gasped, too stunned to say anything, and Chandler was glad, he didn't need them interrupting right now. "She has cancer, breast cancer," he said hoarsely. He could hear Rachel and Phoebe start to cry, which broke down the wall holding his own tears back.

"Oh my god!" Ross said, sounding on the verge of tears himself.

"How long?" Joey asked, as choked up as the rest of them. Chandler sighed. He had been anticipating this question, and even though he had considered lying to them, had decided to tell the truth in the end.

"Its why we came out here, so a month or so before we left New York," he said, trying not to hear how shocked his friends were, "She's having a new treatment, but the trials are only in California," he explained.

"Is she gonna lose a breast?" Rachel asked sympathetically.

"We hope not. But it's a possibility, it depends how successful the drugs are," Chandler said. He was amazed at how calm he sounded, even as tears fell down his cheeks.

"Oh god, poor Monica!" Phoebe said.

"I gotta go, I just nipped out while she fell asleep," Chandler said. The others continued offering sympathy, but it was more than he could take, so he just muttered a quick 'bye guys' and hung up.

Chandler didn't want to go back in to Monica straight away, so he wandered down to the gift shop. He got a few strange looks, but nobody said anything about how awful he looked. Chandler bought Monica a big pink bunny rabbit without really thinking about why he had chosen it.

When he went back to Monica's room, she was still asleep. Monica had learned to ignore the machines that surrounded her with their continual beeping. Chandler didn't understand why they had to beep when everything was fine, surely a beep should be a warning that something was wrong. He was able to ignore them most of the time, but sometimes when Monica was sleeping and he was alone with her in the room, the beeps seemed louder and penetrated his mind until he thought they would drive him insane. He took Monica's hand, and held the pink bunny in his other arm. Both were so comforting that he drifted off to sleep.

Monica woke up to find Chandler next to her, holding a giant pink bunny. She smiled slightly when she saw he was asleep. She had been worried that he wasn't sleeping enough because he was so concerned about her. She sighed. Since Monica had been in hospital, the doctors had played around with her anti-sickness drugs again, and she no longer needed to throw up so much as she had done when she'd been admited. However, right now, she felt absolutely awful. She hated to wake Chandler up, but she knew there was no way she'd make it to the bathroom across the room without collapsing on the floor.

"I'm sorry sweetie, but," she began. Chandler realised why she'd woken him and handed her a bedpan so she could throw up. He gathered her hair up in one hand and helped her hold the bedpan with the other. Monica hadn't lost her hair from the drugs, but it was finer, thinner and duller than it used to be. When Monica was finished, Chandler put the bedpan down out of the way and hugged her.

"Better?" he asked gently. She shrugged.

"Sorry I woke you up," she said.

"Don't worry about it honey," he told her, kissing her cheek.

"What's with the pink bunny?" she asked, nodding towards it.

"Its for you," Chandler said, picking it up and handing it to her. She smiled.

"Its cute," she said, "Not as cute as you as a pink bunny though," she teased. Chandler grinned, remembering how she'd made him dress up as a pink bunny for halloween the first year they were married.

"You don't think I'm cute when I'm not dressed like a pink bunny?" he asked jokingly.

"Nope," Monica answered, "When you're not a pink bunny, you're the most gorgeous man in the world."

"I love you. And if we weren't in a hospital, you'd be getting so lucky right now," Chandler said, with an edge of sadness.

"Didn't stop us when Rachel had the baby," Monica reminded him.

"True. But you're sick now," he said. There was an unhappy pause. "I called the gang, by the way," he said a minute later.

"How'd they take it?"

"Not great. I think they were all crying by the end of it."

"Were they mad because we didn't tell them straight away?"

"I think they're too upset and worried about you to be mad."

"I miss them," Monica said sadly.

"Me too."

"I can't wait till this is over and we can go back to New York. I mean, I know I'll still be having treatment there, but I'll be home, with my friends. And you'll be able to get some proper rest."

"I get rest," Chandler argued, fighting the urge to yawn even as he said it.

"Sure, a few minutes sleep in a chair. You look as tired as I feel!" Monica said. That shocked him slightly, he hadn't looked at himself properly in a mirror for a long time. He shaved maybe twice a week now, but he never really looked at the face he saw in the mirror as he did so. Most of the time, Monica looked totally exhausted and ready to sleep for a year. He now realised he must look just as tired. When he thought about it, it wasn't all that surprising really. He hardly slept, and when he did, he always found himself keeping alert in case Monica needed him in the night. It was better when they were at home, because she wasn't so ill, but it was also worse, because there were no nurses who would check on her every few hours, it was all up to him.

Two days later, Chandler went home. Monica was still in the hospital, but feeling much better than she had been, and she was eating again. She had insisited that Chandler go home and have a proper night's sleep, that she would be perfectly fine on her own for one night. She'd reminded him that the nurses would check up on her frequently throughout the night, and Chandler had let her talk him into agreeing.

Chandler sighed as he ate dinner of microwaved macaroni and cheese, which didn't taste as good as Monica's. He was sitting on the couch, his plate in his lap, watching TV. He half expected Monica to come and tell him to eat in the kitchen so he wouldn't mess up the couch or cushions or his clothes, but of course, she didn't.

He couldn't believe how much he missed her, and he had only been away from her for a few hours. It was ridiculous when he thought about it, they were used to being apart all day in New York, when they were working. And if she was working the evening shift at the restaurant, she'd be going out just as he was getting home from work and they wouldn't be able to be together properly until midnight or later. Yet somehow, he missed her now. He wondered if it was because he'd hardly left her side for more than a few minutes in the last few months. Every second when he was at work, he'd be thinking about her, he'd call her every hour or so, even if she was at home and perfectly fine, with no side effects at that moment in time. He couldn't remember the last time they spent a night apart. It was weird really, they hadn't had sex for months, yet he felt they were closer than ever.

Chandler went to bed early, around nine thirty, because he half hoped to be able to catch up on all the sleep he'd missed out on lately. But he couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop staring at the empty side of the bed, Monica's side. He hated sleeping alone, and couldn't keep away the thought that if Monica died, he'd be sleeping alone like this every night for the rest of his life.

He eventually got up and wandered round the apartment tidying things up. Chandler had taken over the responsibility of cleaning the apartment during the times when Monica was so ill she couldn't manage it herself. He grinned as he thought about cleaning properly so she'd be surprised when she got home from the hospital, which would hopefully be soon. Then he chuckled as he realised he had no idea where Monica kept most of the cleaning products. All he could manage was vacuming, a little dusting, putting clothes and dishes in their respective washing machines and wiping the kitchen surfaces.

When Chandler finally did go back to bed, he faced away from the place where Monica should have been, determind not to think about the possibility of never having her sleep beside him again. It was almost midnight, and this time, he was able to fall asleep relatively easily.

When he woke up an hour later, he wasn't sure why, at first. The first thing he was aware of was the shrill clanging of the fire alarm. He sighed, assuming the fire was somewhere else in the building. Then he noticed the smoke creeping under the bedroom door. For a few seconds, he sat dumbly in bed, staring at it. Then he scrambled out of the bed. The room was filling with smoke scarily fast, so he dropped to his hands and knees, where he found he could breath more easily. But he could still taste it and feel it choking him, and stinging his eyes. He crawled to the door. Remembering something he'd read once, he gingerly touched it, and flinched, it was hot. Chandler didn't know what to do. The window in the bedroom was small, and they were too high up for him to even consider jumping out of it to safety. But he crawled over to it anyway, and opened it. He gulped in the fresh air, leaning far out of the window. Then he tried screaming for help, but nobody seemed to notice. Smoke was billowing out of the window past him, and the flames were licking the door, and still nobody made any move to help him. He could hear sirens in the distance and wondered briefly if they were coming to him, or attending to some other incident elsewhere. When they faded away rather than growing louder and nearer, he started to give up hope. He was choking on the smoke now, even the fresh air from the window no longer seemed as cool and clean and refreshing as it had done.

Chandler wondered if he was going to die. He was surprised how calm he was as the thought floated into his head. Was Monica calm about dying? The door was red and orange and yellow with fire now. He knew it wouldn't be long. At least Monica wasn't here. She wasn't going to die. He didn't want to think that she had cancer, and may well die anyway, that made him long for her to be here with him so they could die together. The flames sped across the carpet towards him. The smoke was thicker and blacker and he could hardly breath. Would it be painful? As his world went black he could no longer be sure if the smoke had filled his eyes or if he was losing consiousness.

Monica somehow managed to sleep in until nine thirty, and was mildly surprised that Chandler wasn't already by her bedside. She hoped he was still asleep, God knows, he needed the rest! A nurse came in to take a blood sample, and jokingly asked if Chandler had died, since every other morning when she'd come in, he'd been there. Monica grinned and said no, she'd sent him home for some rest.

Monica spent the morning reading, watching TV and daydreaming about Chandler. She wasn't **really** worried about him, not yet anyway. He was a grown man, and perfectly capable of taking care of himself. She was a little hurt that he hadn't called to explain why he wasn't there, but she was sure he'd have a good excuse. She smiled at the thought that maybe he was buying her something, flowers or another cuddley toy or something. It would be just like Chandler to do something sweet like that, she thought, looking over at the pink bunny and chuckling.

There was a knock on the door at about two o'clock that afternoon. Monica hoped for a brief moment that it was Chandler, but knew he wouldn't knock. A nurse and a fireman came into the room. Monica's eyes widened. A fire? Oh God, don't let that be the reason Chandler hadn't come to see her yet!

"Monica, this is Fire Officer Harris, um, I'll give you two some peace," the nurse said, scurrying out. Monica felt tears welling in her eyes already. The fireman looked sympathetic, but uncomfortable, possibly because of all the machines.

"Call me Max," he said. Monica didn't speak. "Mrs Bing, I'm so sorry," he said. Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she made no effort to wipe them away. "You live at Apartment 17, 153 Atkinson Road, right?" he sounded half hopeful that this obviously very sick woman would say that she didn't live there, then he wouldn't have to do this to her. Monica nodded. "There was a fire there last night, about 1 am. We think it was caused by an electrical fault." Monica stared at him, why was he telling her that? She didn't care what had caused it, all she wanted to know was whether Chandler was ok. "I'm so sorry Mrs Bing. Your husband was trapped in the bedroom, and I'm afraid he died." She had been anticipating the news, but Monica still gasped in shock and her tears flowed faster. The fireman shifted his weight, then sat down. In Chandler's chair.

"Was it, would it, would he, did it hurt?" she asked quietly, not really sure she wanted to know.

"He died of smoke inhalation, rather than burning, so it wouldn't have hurt him for very long," Max told her. Monica nodded. "Would you like me to call someone for you? Family? Friends?" he offered awkwardly. It wasn't really his job, but he wanted to do something for her, he felt so sorry for her.

"No thank you," Monica said. She had to bite her tongue to stop herself screaming at him that Chandler was the only person in the whole West Coast that mattered to her. And now he was gone. She didn't see the point in asking him to call her friends back in New York.

"The apartment was completely burnt out. I'm afraid most of your possessions were destroyed," he said.

"I don't care about that!" Monica shouted. She rolled on to her side, facing away from Max. She tried to muffle her sobs in the pillow, but her pain was too great to be hidden that way.

"I'm so sorry," Max said again. He didn't know what to do, so he did the only thing he could do, he leaned closer to her and put his hands gently on her shoulders. Monica flinched, but his touch was comforting. She tried to pretend they were Chandler's hands, that she would roll over and see him looking at her worriedly because she had been having a nightmare. She could see herself throwing herself into his arms and clinging to him and telling him she loved him and she was so, so, so glad he was here with her. "I'm sorry this had to happen while you're so ill yourself," Max said. Monica sobbed louder. She knew he meant well, but he had unintentionally shattered the little fantasy that she had built up.

"I love him so much," she said, her voice muffled. Max didn't answer. He had a daughter only a few years younger than Monica, he guessed, and he reacted the same way he would have if it was her who was crying. He perched on the edge of the bed and hugged her. Monica was too distraught to care that a complete stranger was hugging her, and she let him hold her, even turning round again so she could rest her head on his shoulder.

Monica made the phone call she had been dreading the next evening. She called Joey and Rachel's, and found only Ross and Joey were there. She had hoped they all would be, and her voice cracked as she asked where the girls were. Joey asked her if she was alright, and when she didn't answer, he explained that Rachel was at a meeting at work and Phoebe was out on a date.

"Mon, are you ok?" Ross asked, concerned.

"Is it something about the cancer?" Joey asked worriedly.

"No, no, I'm fine. Better than I was when Chandler called you, physcially at least," she added, which scared Ross and Joey.

"What is it?" Joey asked.

"Chandler's dead," she said and couldn't stop herself from bursting into tears. Joey and Ross were crying within seconds, from having to hear how upset Monica was, as well as the news that their best friend was dead.

"Dead? He can't be, I mean, how?" Joey stammered.

"A fire at our apartment out here, I was at the hospital, I sent him home to- Oh, God, I made him go home!" Monica suddenly realised that if she hadn't told him to go home and get some rest, Chandler wouldn't have been hurt, he would be sat next to her right now, holding her, they'd probably be upset that all their possesions were destroyed, but she'd still have the most important thing: him.

"Monica, its not your fault!" Ross insisted.

"You're not even here!" she shouted, "How the hell would you know whether its my fault or not!"

"Because you didn't start the fire!" Ross pointed out. He knew how stubborn his sister could be, and was too upset himself to talk her out of believing it was all her fault, no matter how much it hurt him that she did.

"But-" Monica interrupted.

"Mon, if he hadn't needed to go home, for a deccent nights sleep probably, he wouldn't have let you talk him into it," Joey pointed out, "Chandler can be just as stubborn as you sometimes!"

Monica didn't say anything for a long time, she just cried. And thousands of miles away at the other end of the phone line, Ross and Joey cried too. They weren't embarrased about crying in front of each other, not over something like this.

Chandler's funeral was held a week later. Chandler was to be cremated. His father had arranged it all, and didn't seem to notice the irony of cremating someone who had died in a fire. Ross, Joey, Phoebe and Rachel all flew out to San Diego for it. Monica had wanted it to be in New York, but she wasn't well enough to fly there. Ross had to argue with the doctors before they'd even let her go to the service in San Diego!

Since Chandler's death, Monica's health had worsened again. She was eating poorly and sleeping badly. Whenever anyone tried to get her to talk about Chandler, her eyes would fill with tears and she would clam up and refuse to even look at them. She cried a lot. Her friends spent as much time as they could sitting with her and trying to comfort her, but she hardly seemed to notice they were there.

It was the day of the funeral. Ross came to pick her up to take her. He was wearing a black suit and looked miserable. Monica was dressed in a new black dress that Phoebe and Rachel had picked out for her. But they had forgotten how much weight she'd lost, and the dress hung lifelessly on her skinny frame. Monica didn't care. She was sat on her bed, temporaily disconnected from the drip, and the machines were for once, silent. Ross wondered why she was clutching the giant pink bunny so tightly, but didn't want to ask her.

"Mon, you ready?" he asked softly. She shook her head without looking at him. "Monica, please," he said, crossing the room to perch on her bed and put his arms around her.

"Please what?" Monica asked.

"Please come," Ross said, stroking his sister's hair.

"When did I say I wasn't coming?" she asked. She jerked out of Ross's hug and stood up slightly shakily. Ross moved to help her walk to the door but she shook him off. "I can manage," she insisted.

By the time they had made it to the front of the hospital, where the rest of the gang and Chandler's parents were waiting, it was clear she couldn't manage. Monica was leaning heavily on Ross's arm, although the pressure was frighteningly light. Ross helped her sit on a bench, told Joey to look after her, and ran inside to borrow a wheelchair.

Monica resented being pushed around in a wheelchair. She had wanted so badly to walk today, but she wasn't strong enough. A few days ago she couldn't walk to the bathroom without Chandler's support. She was stupid to imagine she could walk all the way out of the hospital and then from the cab to the service and back again.

The service was short. Monica cried the entire time. Ross had his arm around her and Phoebe held her hand, and she was grateful, but part of her just wanted them all to go away and leave her alone with Chandler's body. She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him and never let go. But she couldn't even **see** his body, it was kept covered, considered too upsetting for her and everyone else to see.

Chandler's parents each said a few words about Chandler. They seemed to be competing, even now, over who could be the better parent. Monica didn't hear a word either of them said. When it was her turn to speak, Ross got up to wheel her to the front, but she stood up and walked herself. Her legs felt like jelly and she was relieved when she got there and was able to sit down again. She wanted to stand, to give Chandler the respect he deserved, but it was either sit down or fall down.

"Chandler is, **was** my life. I love him so much I could never put it into words, but he knew. I know he knew because he loved me just as much. I don't know if I can make it through this time in my life without him. Well, I don't know how I can make it through anytime in my life without him. He's the one person who knows absolutely everything about me, and he understood me like no one else could. I love you Chandler," she said softly but clearly through her tears. She went back to her seat next to her friends.

Monica couldn't believe how few people were at the funeral. Only eight of them. Wait, eight? Her, their four friends, Chandler's parents, who was the eighth? Looking around, she saw Max, the fireman who had come to the hospital that day. She couldn't help wondering why he was there, it surely couldn't be routine. But she was too absorbed in grief to give it much thought.

He approached her after the service, even though he had no idea what he could say to her. Max wasn't even sure why he had come at all. Monica was with Ross, when she saw Max standing next to her.

"Hey, I just wanted to say how sorry I am," Max said.

"Thanks for coming," Monica said dully.

"Um, are you staying in the hospital until you find somewhere else to live? Or with your friends?" he asked.

"They live in New York. So do I, well I'll be going back there when the treatment is over," Monica explained. Ross wandered back to the gang, leaving her in peace.

"When will that be?"

"Another couple of months," Monica said miserably, "I dunno, maybe I should just forget it and go home to New York and not worry about the cancer, then maybe I can be with him again." It was the first time she'd spoken about this, although she'd thought about it a lot since she'd been told Chandler was dead. She really couldn't see the point of carrying on with it when he wasn't there to make it worth it. Max hugged her.

"I'm sure he wouldn't want that," he said carefully.

"You never even met him," Monica retorted.

"No, but I've been married for twenty five years myself, and I know if I died and it was my wife who wanted to give up, I wouldn't want that," he said.

"Twenty five years?" Monica asked. Max nodded. "Chandler and I were only married three," she said, tears threatening to fall again.

"I'm sorry," Max said.

"Why does everyone keep saying that? Its no one else's fault!"

"I guess people don't know what to say."

"You're doing okay."

"Thank you. Listen, I should let you get back to your friends," Max said, hugging her once more. He handed her a slip of paper with a phone number on. "Promise me you'll call and let me know how you are. Or if you want to stay with me in between treatments," he offered. Monica raised an eyebrow. He chuckled. "I'm not coming on to you! Like I said, I'm married, my children are in their twenties, I just thought you might like my daughter's old room more than the hospital when you don't need to be there."

"I'm sorry, thank you so much. I'll think about it. And I promise I'll call," Monica said.

"I don't wanna be rude, but I actually have to leave now."

"That's ok. Thanks for coming."

"Bye." Monica waved at him.

As soon as Max was gone, her friends swooped down on her, wanting to know who he was. Monica sighed and explained that no, he wasn't her new boyfriend, he was a fireman who had befriended her and offered her a place to stay. Ross was sceptical, immediately suspicious of anyone who might possibly hurt his vulnerable baby sister.

"He's just a nice guy!" Monica insisted, "Besides, I never said I was gonna accept did I!"

"What are you gonna do? Stay in the hospital or rent an apartment?" Rachel asked.

"Can we not discuss this now! Its my husband's funeral for god's sakes!" Monica said forcefully.

"I'm sorry Mon, you're right," Ross agreed.

"We're all gonna miss him so much," Joey added.

'Not as much as I am,' Monica thought but didn't say. She knew they all loved Chandler, that they were all hurting, but she couldn't believe that any of them felt the ache of emptiness that she did everytime she thought of Chandler, or the future.

Although Monica called Max as she'd promised she would, she had decided not to stay ith him. She prefered to find her own apartment and mope in peace. Her friends all had to go back to New York after a week, but they called her daily. Monica was out of the hospital for now, and had found a small apartment on the other side of town from the one she and Chandler had shared. She rented it furnished, thinking she could always buy furniture when she returned to New York and save the cost of shipping it over. Also she didn't feel up to trailing round stores looking for furniture. She knew she would miss Chandler's input. He used to whine about it, but she could rely on him to point out that something she loved wouldn't fit in the apartment, or just making sarcastic comments to make the chore more bearable.

She had ten days before her next hospital visit, and that was just a checkup, she wouldn't even have to stay overnight. Monica didn't know what to do with herself in the mean time. She was on a break from the treatment for a couple of weeks. She spent the first two days sitting or laying down on the couch usually sobbing, sometimes watching a sappy movie, always thinking of Chandler.

On the third day, she phoned Max. It was only the second time she's called, the first being the day after Chandler's funeral to tell him she was grateful for his offer of a place to stay but she'd rather find her own place. Already she felt relief was over her when she heard his voice. He reminded her a little of her own father, or perhaps Richard, although without any sexual tension.

"Hey Monica," Max said when she said it was her.

"Hi," she said. If he was waiting for her to start a conversation, he'd have a long time to wait, she wasn't in the mood to make the effort. Chandler would have understood, would have tried to tease her out of it, or hold her and say nothing but comfort her with his presence alone. Sometimes he would ask her questions, in just the right tone of voice to make her **want** to tell him everything that was on her mind.

"How you doing?" he asked.

"How do you think?" she asked. It was half a serious question, she wanted to know how screwed up she sounded to a relative stranger; all her friends had been able to tell instantly how devestated she was. It was also half a way of telling him she didn't wanna talk, even though she'd called him, it was mainly to hear another voice to stop her from going insane.

"I think you're still desperately unhappy, missing your husband like crazy, lonely in a strange city and still ill," Max said perceptively. Monica was impressed.

"You're good!" she said.

"Thank you. You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

"If you change your mind, you know I'm here, don't you?"

"Yep."

"Mon, did you wanna talk about something? Is that why you called?"

Monica slammed the phone down, tears in her eyes. She didn't know why she'd called. She didn't want Max to feel like she needed looking after or that she wanted him to take on the role of her protector.

She disconnected the phone in case Max was worried or thought she'd been cut off and tried to call her back. She appreciated his concern, really she did. But it reminded her of Chandler more than she ever would have imagined. Monica lay face down on the couch, trying desperately not to cry. She was sick and tired of crying, her tears could never bring Chandler back. Nothing could bring him back. The stone cold realisation hit her deep in her stomach and she rushed to the bathroom where she leaned over the toilet but didn't actually vomit. She sat shivering on the bathroom floor for an hour, clutching her knees, tears running down her face, the feeling that she was about to vomit never leaving her, although she didn't throw up at all.

When she finally emerged, she was shaking, her face was flushed and her legs and stomach felt like jelly. But she had made her mind up.

"I love you so much Chandler," she said aloud to the empty apartment.

Monica woke up blinking. She couldn't work out where she was. Her stomach really hurt and her throat felt dry and scratchy. She coughed and tried to sit up. Strong arms went around her shoulders and helped her. For a second she almost allowed herself to believe it was Chandler, but when she turned to look, it was Max.

"How do you feel?" he asked her.

"Like crap," Monica said.

"I was so worried about you."

"Why?" She couldn't understand why a stranger would give a shit about her.

"After you hung up the phone, I knew something was wrong. I was right. When I got to your apartment I found you on the couch with an empty bottle of sleeping pills and puke on the floor next to you," he said, trying not to sound angry. Because Max wasn't angry with her, he felt sorry for her. Monica blushed, embarrased that he had seen her like that, then wondered why she cared.

"I wish I hadn't given you my address," was all she said.

"I'm glad you did! If you hadn't, you'd be dead right now." He hoped harsh words might get through to her and help her snap out of her depression.

"You think I don't wish I waS?" she said miserably. Max hugged her tightly.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked softly when he released her. Monica shrugged.

"I don't know," she said evasively.

"Monica, you took 40 sleeping pills! You don't do that unless you at least know **why** you're doing it!" Max said, he was beginning to get frustrated with her.

"Why do you even care?" she demanded.

"Because I feel-" he stopped.

"You feel sorry for me," Monica finished for him, "You feel sorry for me, so you wanna act like you're my friend, or my father or my big brother or **something** but I only just met you! I don't give a shit if you disappear and I never see you again!"

"I'm only trying to be here for you while your real friends are the other side of the country," Max said, fighting to keep hold of his temper.

"Don't bother," Monica told him rudely.

"Monica, please, I'm trying to help you."

"I don't want your help, I don't want anyone's help."

"What do you want then?"

"I want Chandler. I miss him more than you could imagine, and I am so terrified of the thought of living the rest of my life alone," Monica said, starting to cry.

"You won't be alone. You'll have your friends, your brother, your parents," Max pointed out, handing her a tissue, which she took but didn't use.

"I know it sounds awful, because I love them, I really do, but Chandler was everything to me."

Neither of them said anything for a while. Max didn't have the words to comfort her, Monica was trying to get things sorted out in her mind.

"You know why I took sleeping pills?" she asked eventually, her voice almost dreamlike.

"Because they were there?" Max asked. It made sense to him.

"No," Monica said. She had been prescribed sleeping pills by her doctor after Chandler died because she couldn't sleep without him there, but that wasn't really why. "Because I wanted to sleep," she said simply.

"Monica, you take one or two sleeping pills if you wanna sleep, not 40!" Max pointed out, confused.

"I wanted to sleep for a long time," she said.

"Monia-" Max began but she cut him off.

"I wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep, and I wanted to dream of Chandler and lose myself in him and never wake up," she said softly.

"Oh Monica," Max said and hugged her hard. Monica let herself cry into his shoulder.

Max tried to convince Monica to stay with him after she was discharged from hospital, but she refused point blank. She did seem much better, almost as if having attempted suicide and failed had gotten ride of the urge to 'sleep' as she put it. She had refused to tell her New York friends about what she'd done, although Max wished he could tell them himself, but Monica hadn't given him their numbers, or even their last names.

Monica stayed in California until the end of the cancer treatment trials. When she was finally allowed to go home, she was suddenly terrified. Being in California without Chandler was hard enough, being in New York without Chandler, but with so many years of memories and reminders of him was going to be infinately worse. Even if all the material things that reminded her of him, the bed they'd slept together in, photo albums, clothes and all his CDs and videos and stuff were gone, she would still have to face the places where so much had happened.

Monica fingered her wedding and engagement rings, she wore them both all the time, and was relieved they hadn't been destroyed in the fire. The only other piece of jewellery she had was a gold and diamond cross that Chandler had given her for their second wedding anniversary. She had cried with happiness when he gave her such a beautiful and expensive present, and she would have been crushed if it had been lost in the fire.

Monica was packing to leave. She had much less stuff than she had flown out to San Diego six months ago, but she'd had to buy new clothes and essential while she was there. Everything was packed, except the urn that contained Chandler's ashes. She still hadn't decided what to do with them. Part of her wanted to keep them with her forever, but she couldn't help wanting to set him free, to let him go as Max kept telling her she would one day have to, and be able to. She didn't believe him when he told her she'd learn to be happy without him and to move on with her life, maybe even get married again.

"Mon, I know you don't believe me right now, you're still hurting and you're still lonely. Being out here away from your friends hasn't helped. But I promise, in time, you'll be able to let go. You'll want to let go. I think you understand that you'll have to one day," Max told her.

"I know I should," Monica agreed, "But Chandler has been such a big part of my life for so long, since I was a senior in high school for God's sake! He was my best friend for years before we ever got together. No matter how hard I try, I can't imagine anyone taking his place," she said.

"Its not about taking his place. Its about letting someone else have a chance to be with you and make you happy," Max argued.

"No one can ever make me as happy as he did."

"You'll never know unless you let them try."

Monica rolled her eyes. She hated when Max acted like this. Mostly because she knew deep down that he was right.

Monica's treatment continued for a few months after she was back in New York, fortunately, she didn't lose a breast, which she had been very worried about. Bizarrely, Rachel and Phoebe had been more worried about this than Monica. She had kept in contact with Max, phoning him every week or two. They never talked that much, but his voice was a lifeline to her until the calls became more and more spread out, then, about a year after she'd left San Diego, they stopped altogether.

So Max was surprised when he got 2 letters from New York on the same day, almost 4 years after his last conversation with Monica. He opened the smaller one first.

Dear Max

You were right. It took me a hell of a long time, but I learnt to be happy without Chandler. I don't pine for him every time someone tells a joke, or feel guilty every time I laugh. I even fell in love again.

His name is Scott. He's a great guy, I'm sure you'd really like him. He's a teacher, but he says he wouldn't want kids of his own. That's just fine with me. I'm sure I told you how important children were to me, but I guess I'm not as "moved on" as I thought, because I still can't imagine having children with anyone other than Chandler.

I know we've drifted apart over the last few years, but I'd love it if you could come.

All my love

Monica

Come? Come where? Max opened the other letter. It was an invitation to the wedding of Monica Bing and Scott Hayes. The date was in three months time. Max smiled. He was so proud of her, as proud as he would have been of his own daughter if it was her in Monica's situation.

From the day she married him, Monica knew Scott couldn't replace Chandler in her heart, and she didn't want him to either. Scott knew Monica was a widow, but she had never told him much about Chandler. Scott was three years older than Monica with green eyes and blonde hair. Joey had winked at Monica approvingly when she introduced him, although he frowned when he realised Monica's new boyfriend wasn't called Hoyt.

Monica and Scott had been married for four years when she realised he was cheating on her. She wasn't nearly as upset as she would have expected to be, but she knew she couldn't keep going with a relationship that he had already given up on. She asked for a divorce. Scott shouted at her for hours, while she sat there taking it, she wasn't angry enough to shout back, he wasn't worth it. He accused her of never having loved him, which wasn't true; of constantly comparing him to Chandler, which Monica admited probably was true; of cheating on him, which was ridiculous; of not working as hard on the marriage as he did, which might have been true, except Scott seemed to care less about their marriage than Monica did. Monica remained calm throughout, which drove him even more crazy.

"You're so obsessed with your fucking dead husband that you can't accept that anyone else could be just as good or better than him. He was shit Mon, he died and fucking left you alone, the fire was probably his fault in the first place," he shouted, determind to get a reaction from her. Monica clenched her fists and bit down hard on her lip. "Or maybe there never was a husband, maybe you made him up to excuse yourself for being incapable of loving anyone!"

That did it. Monica screamed wordlessly and threw a vase full of flowers (that Rachel had given her to cheer her up) at him, narrowly missing his head.

"What the fuck did you do that for you stupid bitch?" he screamed at her.

Monica ignored him and moved to the kitchen, never taking her eyes off him, afraid he'd come towards her and hurt her. She threw a few plates and cups and glasses at him, most of which missed him, because she was too upset to aim properly, but one grazed his forhead. Scott's hand flew to his head, shocked more than anything. He went to the kitchen and she hurriedly moved away, but he ignored her and reached for a wet cloth to hold against his cut. Monica moved to the mantlepiece, her back to it, she groped along it to feel her way. Her hand touched the urn that contained Chandler's ashes, which she had never been able to release. Suddenly unconcered with what Scott might do to her, she turned and picked it up. She held it close, crying. She missed Chandler so much, even now. She crumpled to the floor, hugging it and crying for everything she'd lost. The door slammed shut as Scott left, but Monica didn't even hear it.

It was April. Monica's divorce had just been made final. Scott had broken up with his girlfriend and begged Monica to take him back, but she wouldn't, and he was now living with another girlfriend. Monica had driven up to Montauk, another place full of memories, but prettier than New York and less painful. She walked slowly along the beach, clutching the urn to her chest. It was time, she knew it was time. She walked to the waters edge and let the ashes go.

"I love you Chandler," she whispered.

THE END


End file.
